


Soon We'll Be Found

by KellerProcess



Category: Amadeus (1984), Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angels don't dance, Beelzebub in 18th century breeches and brocade coat, Gabriel being a clothes horse, M/M, Other, and about the damnation of souls, fun at Viennese masquerade parties, gratuitous abuse of Mozart's music, gratuitous abuse of Sia's music, gratuitous abuse of the movie Amadeus, literally the only Good Omens/Amadeus crossover you will ever see, seriously this is just a fic about dancing, unless they do
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 14:22:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20622473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KellerProcess/pseuds/KellerProcess
Summary: Gabriel’s feelings for Beelzebub are often difficult for him to understand. But he knows one thing: angels don’t dance. He's known that since Beelzebub asked him to over two hundred years ago, during a stakeout in Vienna.Beelzebub is about to prove him wrong.





	Soon We'll Be Found

The text message had been clear and concise, just as Beelzebub always was.

_“Studio Lorraine, off Piccadilly Circus_

_“7pm_

_“Wear comfortable shoes”_

But “clear and concise” didn’t mean that Gabriel actually understood what she meant. Or just how she’d gotten her hands on a cellular phone that actually, well, _worked_ for one thing—

But it was better not to get distracted.

_“What do you mean by ‘comfortable shoes’?”_ he texted back. 

_“That could mean loafers, boat shoes, sandals, sneakers……”_

_“If it’s going to be sneakers does that mean you want to go jogging?”_

He hoped so.

The phone chirped seconds later.

_“Something you can dance in.”_

Gabriel stared at the screen.

“What?” he mouthed.

The phone chirped again.

“_Yes, you read that right.”_

And again.

“_I’m not jogging with you. Five times this month is enough.”_

Gabriel thought about sending her a snarky reply. The problem was, he wasn’t very good at them. So he just let the frowny-face emoji speak for him.

“_I’m calling in my favor.”_

Gabriel sighed.

_“You’ll have to pick something else. Angels don’t dance.”_

He didn’t even need to wait ten seconds.

_“Oh, this one will.”_

This time he sent the angry-face emoji. 

When the phone pinged again, Gabriel shook his head and tucked it away in his jacket. He had no idea what_ that_ particular emoji meant, but it couldn’t have been anything nice.

He sucked in a breath. Puffed it out slowly, like a deflating balloon.

“Angels don’t dance,” he told his empty office. “We just don’t.”

The office had no reply.

Gabriel threw his hands up in exasperation and turned to the wall that was catty-corner to the windows. Today they looked out on— Vienna. Specifically Schönbrunn Palace, he realized with a groan. Because of course.

“Stop patronizing me,” he told his office. “That’s the last place I want to think about right now.”

Once again, it remained silent, neither confirming nor denying the accusation.

Gabriel snapped his hand at the wall. It parted immediately, revealing a closet big enough to house several of those stadium-things humans played ball games in. Since their invention, Gabriel had thoroughly enjoyed human clothing. Naturally, not every outfit worked or needed to be kept—he shuddered to remember some of the things he’d worn during the 1970s—but most of them did. He didn’t wear them all, of course. Some weren’t practical, others no longer interested him much, and some simply were not fashionable anymore, by any stretch of the imagination. But even those had happy memories attached to them. And the ones that were still fashionable? Well, just because he didn’t wear most of them very often, didn’t mean he never would again. Especially since Armageddon seemed to have been postponed indefinitely. And if he did get rid of them, he might regret doing so. And if he regretted doing so, then he would want to get replacements—and many of these outfits were irreplaceable. He could always miracle up new ones, of course, but it wouldn’t be the same. It never was.

Unfortunately, this meant that choosing an outfit to wear for tonight’s— Date? Was that the term. Yes.

Date. Choosing an outfit for tonight’s date would be complicated.

Best to start with the shoes, though.

He really wished she’d specified what kind. On a good day, it nearly took a minor miracle for him to decide quickly, with tens of thousands of pairs to sort through.

In the end, though, he went with a classic: his favorite pair of Cole Haan buckland saddle oxfords. Though he’d had them for several years, they were polished to perfection, and the perforated broguing never went out of style.

The suit was far easier to choose. The new bespoke three-piece Scabal in light gray cashmere with a soft lavender shirt and a gray tie.

She enjoyed seeing him in gray and purple. And he did look good, according to the closet’s three mirrors.

Floating into his clothing. Wasn’t that what she’d called it?

_“Everything you wear lookzz like it was created just for you.”_

_“Well, of course,” he’d joked. “Do you think I’d wear anything that _wasn’t_ bespoke?”_

The way she’d run her gaze along his body had informed him that she did not.

And that the bespoke Armani wasn’t what she’d been admiring. 

Gabriel turned around again just to be sure. Then, satisfied, he shut the closet and headed for heaven’s anteroom and the globe that would take him wherever he wanted to go.

Nearly two hundred and fifty years ago, that place had been Vienna, the city of music.


End file.
